


Loosen Up

by Practicefortheheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Dancing, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practicefortheheart/pseuds/Practicefortheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not a fan of dancing, then?” The question took Sherlock by surprise; he wasn’t used to people spontaneously talking to him. The stranger looked at him hesitantly, trying to read his face - which was admittedly quite confusing at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loosen Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meetingyourmaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetingyourmaker/gifts).



> This is to fill a prompt from [Meetingyourmaker](http://meetingyourmaker.tumblr.com/): How about some balletlock ? Sherlock has been used to dancing solo on stage. He gets lonely since no one wants to partner with him because of his arrogance and impossible standards. So one night ,he hangs out in a bar. The music starts and some couples go to the center for some slow dancing. Then a stranger (John) surprises him with an invitation to dance.
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> As always: all my love to [Felicia](http://loveanddeathandartandtaxes.tumblr.com/) for beta reading (and so quickly, you spoil me)! 
> 
> <3

The bar was dark and crowded. Sherlock liked it that way. It was oddly comforting to be a little invisible every now and then, to be able to hide away in the shadows. For six days a week, he danced in the bright-lit practice rooms of the Royal Opera House and he was forced to look at himself in the mirrored walls all the time. Every move had to be studied, precise, careful. And repeated endless times.

Ballet was his life, of course, and had been since he began his classes, almost 20 years now. He didn’t mind the hard work it demanded of him, but nights like these were his way of dealing with the scrutiny of his day job. He wasn’t dancing in a show at the moment, which made his schedule a little easier. He still had to train all day, rehearsing for future shows, but for now his nights were free. And so he had some extra energy left to go out.

He didn’t do this often, usually he prefered to go home and read or play the violin. But this week had been a hard one, and he wanted to let off some steam. The company was auditioning for some new ballets, completely new pieces with a modern choreography and Sherlock really wanted a part. The problem was of course that they all required pas de deux and none of the other dancers were keen on dancing with him, even though he was easily the best dancer in the whole company. The only reason that he hadn’t been promoted to principal yet was because he had such a bad reputation as a partner. He was fine being a soloist, if he had to be honest, because it annoyed him immensely if his dance partner couldn’t follow him on stage.

Last time, he tried a pas de deux with Molly Hooper, and had to keep whispering corrections on her posture until she became so flustered she had flung herself into a lift very badly. It had made them topple over and resulted in both of them visiting the physiotherapist afterwards. Molly had told everyone who would listen it was his fault, although he couldn’t see how _he_ was responsible for _her_ poor technique.

He spotted an empty stool at the bar and went towards it. Generic lounge music filled the air and dolled up women and men were chatting and laughing in small groups around the bar. Like Sherlock, they were waiting for the moment the DJ would come out and they could dance the night away. Sherlock ordered a drink - normally he avoided alcohol, but he didn’t have classes or rehearsals the next day and he just didn’t care. If that meant spending his free day nursing a hangover, so be it.

While he wondered if he could bribe Irene into auditioning with him when the medical student next to him at the bar caught his eye. He was wearing jeans and a fitted t-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders. Sherlock wondered why he was here alone. Maybe he was waiting for someone, a date; maybe he just wanted some stress relief. He could tell by the crease between his brows the stranger was worrying about something. Exams, perhaps. Or it could be his alcoholic sister, Sherlock mused, looking at the phone the man had just fished out of his pocket. No messages. Maybe his date had stood him up. Ah, the mundane things his peers got up to, Sherlock thought airily, while sipping from his bright green cocktail.

As the stranger huffed out a breath and threaded a hand through his sandy hair, he wondered why he wanted to know what was troubling him. He usually didn’t care about anyone, using his deductive skills to his advantage whenever he could. The ballet world was a cruel one, and it always came in handy to know who was hiding an injury (almost everyone in the company, really) or who was attempting to seduce the ballet Master (usually Irene) or Mistress (also Irene, damn her). This time he was just curious. How strange. He decided he should stop this behaviour immediately.

Sherlock finished his drink and ordered another, angling his body away from the med student, now resigned to his date not showing up, and towards the room. He focused his gaze on the people around him, deducing them one by one, but all of them were boring: a group of accountants who had an awkward after work _thing_ , a bunch of ladies on a hens’ night where the bride to be was already too drunk to sit on a stool without support, a reunion of old college friends who were trying to bring back the old times and failing spectacularly, and a lot of single men looking for a one night stand. He hoped the music would start soon, for all their sakes.

It was as if the DJ had read his mind, because the lounge music was replaced with an enthusiastic voice introducing the first song, and the soft tones of a slow dance. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back, while the girls of the bachelorette party were apparently trying to get their wasted friend to dance with the cutest available male as a dare. He turned back to his drink, hoping the DJ would keep the slow dances to a minimum.

“Not a fan of dancing, then?” The question took Sherlock by surprise; he wasn’t used to people spontaneously talking to him. The stranger looked at him hesitantly, trying to read his face - which was admittedly quite confusing at the moment.

“Actually I’m a big fan of dancing. I’m a soloist with the Royal Ballet, in fact.” He couldn’t keep himself from bragging a little. The stranger smiled at that, his whole face lighting up, which did a funny thing to Sherlock’s chest.

“Wow, that’s quite something! I’m just a...”  

“Medical student, thinking about specializing in surgery. You should, you have the hands for it,” Sherlock finished for him. The man blinked up at him.

“How did you…that’s amazing, I...you really think I’d be a good surgeon?” he stammered, studying his own hands and looking back up at Sherlock. It dawned on him he wanted to know the man’s name, for him not to be a stranger anymore.

“Yes, I don’t see why not. I’m Sherlock, by the way,” he said, awkwardly holding out his hand. How did ordinary people do these type of things? It was pure agony.

“John,” he replied, taking Sherlock’s hand in his. “So, Sherlock, fancy a dance then?” John grinned, not letting go of his hand, but using it to pull Sherlock away from the bar and into the crowd on the dancefloor. The DJ had switched from a slow dance to upbeat rock-n-roll, which made Sherlock a little nervous.

“Know how to jive?” John asked him. Sherlock shook his head, “Not really part of my training,” he answered.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll lead, you’ll get it in no time!” John arranged Sherlock and started to show him some basic steps. It wasn’t that complicated, and soon they were dancing.

“You need to loosen up for this, Sherlock! Just feel the music and stop thinking so hard! Have fun!” John shouted over the music. Despite Sherlock being almost a head taller, John was confident and sure in his movements, and Sherlock noticed he felt instinctively where John wanted him to go. He realised John wasn’t judging him, wasn’t looking for mistakes. He also noticed he wasn’t thinking about whether John was making any mistakes, or how they looked together. He was just enjoying himself, letting the music and John guide him.

The song came to an end, and the next track was another slow dance. They stopped moving, but John didn’t look worried or shy. Relieved, Sherlock found it was the easiest thing in the word to pull at John’s hands to press their bodies together and settle his hands low on John’s back. He felt John’s arms circle around his neck and his soft hair tickle against his cheek. John sighed softly, his breath grazing Sherlock’s ear.

“Thank you, John,” he murmured.

“What for?”

“A successful pas de deux.”

****  
  
  



End file.
